Fool's Gold
by Mutrie
Summary: Alistair finds himself the object of scrutiny at the worst time. An AU account of his pre-DA life.


**Fool's Gold**

They were fighting again. Alistair could hear them from his perch near the window.

Guilt surged, an acid that ate his stomach. He shouldn't be listening, he knew. Still, he crept closer on the branch, straining to hear them now that their voices had tumbled from a shout. The night was a black one where the moon was only a small sliver and the stars were hidden behind scattered clouds. The castle was well lit, however, and the light had been enough for him to climb up the tree. Through the window he could see the look on Lady Isolde's face; it was one he knew all too well, one he usually fled from when it crossed her face. For once, it wasn't directed at him.

Their voices were too low for him to hear anymore, but every once in a while he could make his name out, scattered among the rumble of noises coming from the room. The warm wind blew past him, carrying their voices away, off into the night.

Alistair felt frustration building inside him, and he barely managed to keep himself from screaming from it. Something had changed tonight, he had no idea what it was, or why it had, but when Isolde had dragged the Arl away to his study the look she gave him had been triumphant.

It had scared him witless.

And now the wind was taking their words away to be lost in the stark darkness around him. He just wanted to know what he had done. What they had planned.

"Boy."

Alistair nearly fell off the branch then. He grabbed the trunk hard and held on, waiting for his frantic heart to calm down.

"Boy! Come down here!"

Alistair groaned. He was in for it now. He didn't recognize the voice, but it didn't matter. The voice belonged to a grown-up. And at ten, Alistair had learned that whenever he came into contact with those, trouble always followed. Reluctantly he lowered himself down the tree, and when his feet touched the ground he had half a mind to run for it but before his feet could answer that request a hand snaked out and gripped his arm.

The man that held his arm was someone Alistair had never seen before; his hair was dark and just starting to turn to silver but his blue eyes were warm and kind. Alistair felt himself start to relax as the man lowered himself to his knees until they were eye level.

For a moment, the man just stared. Alistair felt himself fidgeting, squirming under the intense scrutiny – scrutiny he'd never endured before. Here he was invisible to all except Lady Isolde but she never stared at him like this, never seemed to see him unless he was in trouble.

"How old are you?" the man asked.

"Ten… ser." Alistair added, just in case.

"The same age as my son." Alistair just stared at him, unsure of how he was supposed to react to that statement. "Have you started your training, yet?"

"Training? For what?"

"To be a knight. My son started two years ago."

Alistair felt his eyes grow wide. "T-to be a k-knight? Me?" he breathed the last word like a prayer. He could feel himself filling up, floating at the very idea of it: him, a real knight like the ones that served the Arl.

And then, just like that, he felt himself deflate. The Arl. He would _never _allow Alistair to be a knight.

"Bryce! What do you have there?" Alistair recognized the Arl's voice then and scooted over, trying to hide himself behind this large man. The man – Bryce – stood up to face the Arl but still kept a firm grip on his arm. Alistair struggled weakly against it, not sure if he really did want to run away or not. It was what he always did: whenever the Arl came he ran, and whenever Lady Isolde came he ran even faster. It seemed to be all he was good at. He messed up everything else he tried to do.

He stood, frozen, staring at the Arl, watching his eyes widen as they fell on Alistair and then rose back up to Bryce. "I see you met the maid's son –"

Bryce held up a hand. "His father is written all over his face."

In the blink of an eye the Arl's face turned into a mask of cold, hard stone. Alistair whimpered at it; he'd only seen that face one other time, but it had been enough to make him never want to see it again.

"Who his father is doesn't matter –"

"This is a disgrace. Does Maric know…?"

"He knows. And you know, Bryce, that it would be best for Ferelden to leave the boy here."

"He's the son of a king – _our _king. He doesn't deserve this."

"_Deserve _has nothing to do with this."

Alistair's eyes swung from one man to the other, terror freezing him in place, stifling his breath.

Bryce pointed a menacing finger at the Arl. "I expect the boy to be here when I get back. I'll put it to Maric himself to decide the boy's fate."

"And he'll be trained by you to be a knight – for what? He – and everyone else – will always know _what _he is."

"Only if you keep reminding them."

The Arl said nothing to that, but instead turned and walked stiffly back to the castle. Alistair watched him go, the terror only growing now, knowing he had done _something _wrong again, and now he was in the biggest trouble of his life.

"Boy, look at me." Alistair managed to – barely – turn his eyes away from the Arl's retreating back to the man in front of him now. "If you ever need anything, please come to me." He was pressing something into Alistair's hand; it was a cold, hard metal of some sort. "I will be back soon. I promise."

When the man left Alistair fled back to the stables, his head spinning incoherently, and when he got there he finally had the presence of mind to look into his hands.

A gold piece stared up at him. He'd never seen one before. Noises coming from outside the stable startled him and he carefully put the gold in his shoe as the doors opened and the flood of light fell on him.

* * *

The wooden sword came out of nowhere, slashing through the bushes Alistair had hidden in. With a startled yelp, he rose out of them and ran, laughing, as the dark-haired owner of the sword swung it again. Alistair felt the breath of wind it left behind as he darted out of its path.

"I caught you!" Aedan called out, and Alistair stopped running and turned around. When he caught up with him, Aedan handed him the sword and Alistair swung it artlessly.

Aedan scoffed. "No, no! Not like _that_!" He snatched the sword back. "Like _this_." He demonstrated the swing and Alistair's eyes followed every movement eagerly.

Losing interest, Aedan handed the sword back to him and looked up to the sky. "We should go swimming."

Alistair's eyes followed his upward, and he stared at the cloudy sky dubiously. "Isn't it going to rain?"

Aedan rolled his blue eyes. "No, _those_ aren't rain clouds. _Maker_ did they teach you _anything _there?"

Alistair felt heat creep into his cheeks. Despite the immediate friendship between he and Aedan in the few weeks since he'd arrived at Highever, Alistair had been unwilling to say much of his time at Redcliffe. Although the Arl had been cold during his final weeks there, and had barely spoken to him, his face still haunted him. Alistair would wake up in the middle of the night certain he had dreamed everything; that he was still sleeping in the stables, invisible and alone, that the Arl would come here any day and take him away from this wonderful life.

"I guess not," was all he could think to say.

"Aedan?"

Alistair started at the voice and would have turned around if Aedan hadn't grabbed his shirt and forced him to keep facing forward. Together, the boys started walking, trying to ignore the little girl's winces and cries as she struggled to catch up with them.

After a moment she huffed and said it again, much louder this time: "_Aedan_."

And then barely a moment later: "_AEDAAAAAAAAAAAN_!"

This last one came out a shrill shriek.

The dark-haired boy stopped walking but kept his back to her with his arms folded, obstinately ignoring his little sister. Alistair stared at Aedan a moment and then folded his arms exactly like him, imitating the stubborn tilt of his jaw. But unlike Aedan, the guilt was tearing through Alistair, and it took everything in him to not turn around.

As if she'd heard his thought, he heard a faint, "Alistair?"

He froze. Beside him, Aedan groaned and whispered loudly, "Don't look at her. _Don't _look at her."

But it came again: "Alistair?" It was softer this time, with a touch of hurt that ended with a choked sob.

_Maker, she's devious. _He balled his fists into his folded his arms and stared straight ahead as Aedan continued whispering advice to him, "Don't do it, Alistair. If you look at her, it's all over."

"_Alistair!_" She sobbed, her voice cracking now. The guilt coursing through him hit him like a swift kick in the gut. He turned.

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Aedan's yell turned into a groan and he kicked a rock at his feet sourly as he turned to face her as well.

Brenna grinned and skipped over towards them. "What are you two up to?" She asked, as if she hadn't sounded like she was on the verge of tears mere seconds earlier.

Aedan answered for him, "Stuff."

The six-year-old wasn't put off by Aedan's irritated tone. She blinked those turquoise eyes at her brother and asked, "What sort of stuff?"

"Boy stuff. _Girls _can't come along." Aedan crossed his arms and glared at her. Alistair glanced at him and did the same.

Brenna turned the full force of those eyes on him and asked, "Alistair? What are you guys doing?"

Alistair groaned and grimaced; it was _hard_ to say no to those eyes. It didn't help that Alistair knew exactly why she followed them around. It was something he was all too familiar with: the desire to _belong_, to be part of something.

"Don't answer her!" Aedan fairly yelled in his ear.

The ten-year-olds shared a look. Alistair found it was easier to answer correctly when he wasn't looking at her so he kept his gaze trained on a boulder near the beach and said, "stuff."

He turned back to her sharply when he heard her sniffle. The guilt ate at him, tearing his stomach to shreds. Aedan grabbed his arm and pulled him along and Alistair followed him, not sure of where they were going; the imp followed right behind them. When it became obvious she wasn't going to go away Aedan finally turned around and ordered her to leave.

Which, of course, she completely ignored.

She ran forward and grabbed Alistair's arm and tugged it. "As my husband you have to tell me what you're doing! You can't leave your wife out of this!"

Alistair froze and slowly turned around to stare at her. "We're not _married_!" he cried, nonplussed.

He gagged; he didn't even want to _think_ about the fact that someday he was going to have to marry… _her_. He shot Aedan a look of pure disgust which was returned with a look of pure amusement. By now, Alistair knew that look; Aedan was going to crow about this for _weeks_. He sighed.

The little girl planted her fists on her hips firmly. "We're _practically_ married! Daddy says we're going to be husband and wife someday. And husbands and wives do stuff together. So you _have _to tell me!" Those turquoise beams pinned him again, and then batted a few times for good measure.

He felt himself weakening under the gaze. Finally he said, rather sullenly, "Swimming."

"_Alistair!_" Aedan groaned his name.

"Oooooh!" She practically squealed with excitement. "I _love _swimming–"

"We don't care!"

"–and so does Bear," she continued, completely ignoring Aedan's outburst. "Can we take him along too?"

"No. Because you're _not _coming!"

"Yes, I am!"

"No, you're not. And Bear's a dumb name to give a _dog_."

Brenna's chest puffed out in indignation and her blonde hair swung furiously around her as she turned to her brother. "It is not!"

"Is to!"

"Is not!"

"Is to!"

"Bear _loves _his name! And he's fearsome, just like a bear. And Daddy says he will protect me, just like a bear. So Bear is a good name." She concluded, rather lamely in Alistair's opinion.

Aedan groaned and then rolled his eyes skyward. "Why did the Maker have to make _girls_?"

"Mommy says that the Maker made girls because boys can't lace their boots without us."

"Oh _yeah_? Well Father says that–"

Alistair had had enough. He groaned loudly and took off towards the beach without them both. "Hey!" he heard Aedan yell from behind, and the sounds of two pairs of running feet echoed off the cliffs.

"But – but Alistair we have to get Bear!" Alistair cringed at the tiny note of whine in her voice.

"Such a stupid name," he heard Aedan mutter under his breath.

Alistair felt his shoulders droop and he stopped and turned and stared at her. Aedan groaned again and turned to Brenna grudgingly. "Alright – _fine_! Go get _Bear_."

Brenna eyed her brother suspiciously. "You're going to stay here, right?" When Aedan muttered something noncommittal under his breath Brenna turned to Alistair and repeated the question.

"Yes, I'll wait for you," he said with a sigh.

Brenna's smile was huge; it reminded Alistair that he actually kind-of, sort-of, maybe a little liked it when she was around – annoying squirt that she was. When she had run out of sight Aedan attempted to leave but Alistair stood his ground – he'd promised after all. Aedan looked to the beach, then back to Alistair, and then grumbled a bit as he found a rock to sit on next to him.

* * *

"You know, if I make a total fool of myself I get to say it's all _your _fault."

Aedan rolled his eyes at him. "If you make a fool of yourself, it's because you're an _idiot_."

"Right. Because there's no _possible _way I could make a fool of myself."

"She's sweet on you; I can see it from here."

Alistair sighed, and followed Aedan's gaze to the busty red-headed woman staring at him. Even in the darkness lit only by a few torches above, the lust in her eyes was unmistakable. When their eyes met he felt his cheeks flush and he looked away, feeling like a fool already. "Aren't I engaged to your sister?"

"Are you _trying _to kill the mood?"

Now Alistair rolled his eyes. "Well, I _am_."

"She's _twelve_."

"And here I thought she was an old woman."

Aedan sighed and muttered under his breath, "Maker's sake…" Finally, patience worn out, he snapped, "Just go _talk _to her, Alistair. She's not going to make this hard."

Alistair stared at her again dubiously. "How do you know this?"

"I can tell."

Alistair eyed him. Aedan, while far more experienced than Alistair with women, was no suave lothario. "And you can tell this – _how_?"

Aedan glared at him, and said nothing, only nodding his head, indicating something behind him. Alistair looked over to her again, just in time to see her walk towards the stables – but not too quickly.

Heat filled his cheeks again as Aedan burst into laughter. "What did I tell you?" Aedan slapped him on the back and then gave him a hard shove. "_Go_!"

Alistair was standing before he really knew it. Aedan's laughter followed him and stayed even after the door to the stables was shut behind him.

* * *

"Well? Have you?"

At Alistair's shrug, Brenna's eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. The bright midday light was streaming through the colored windows; reds, pinks, greens and blues shot down from the ceiling, washing the room in a variety of hues. He only just noticed this; he'd finally taken his eyes off her mouth long enough to.

She looked like she actually wanted an answer so he sighed and said, "I'm twenty, Brenna. What do you think?"

Those large eyes of hers widened, and then swung down, her delicate features looking forlorn. "Well I haven't."

Alistair only grunted at this, relieved to hear it. Somehow, during her time in Denerim as the Queen's Lady-in-waiting, she'd turned into this gorgeous vision; long, wavy blonde hair and large blue eyes that seemed to take up half her face. Even though he felt like a complete idiot, he couldn't stop staring at her, couldn't stop himself from walking the castle, looking for her.

"You can't imagine how _relieved _I am to hear it," he finally said, just to irritate her.

Brenna rolled her eyes. "Well, it's all _your _fault, you know. Aren't you the one that should be stealing them in dark corners?" She scrunched up her face curiously. "Well, that's what the minstrel tried to do."

Alistair sat up at that and glared at her. "_Who_?"

Her grin was slow and thoroughly evil. Alistair loved every inch of it. "The minstrel that came to Denerim last Wintersend," she said, as if she'd been describing the weather.

She was playing him; he knew it. But the green fire of jealousy was burning him now. "And he did _what_?"

The grin on her face stretched from ear to ear and she sauntered towards him and finally flopped down on the chair next to him with careless grace. "Tried to kiss me," she finally said, and then her grin turned into a pout. "Which is more than _you've _attempted."

He raised an eyebrow and then turned to her curiously. _Tha t_had sounded suspiciously like a challenge.

"Really?" he drawled, and then stood up and inched his way towards her. "We can fix that, you know."

He could see the moment she became nervous. He liked that, liked that he could make someone _else _nervous; it was a welcome change. When she stood up, she wiped her hands against her dress but the grin was still stretching her lips. He stared at them, feeling his stomach curl.

"You mean you'll attempt –"

Alistair grabbed her hand and yanked her towards him and she fell into his chest. When he leaned towards her she met him halfway, throwing her arms around his neck when his lips settled on hers–

He was all sensation then, feeling nothing but those soft lips on his, her warm body pressed against him and his hands roamed, unable to help themselves, feeling every curve of her body.

"_Brenna_!"

She jumped away from him, her cheeks as red as his felt now and both turned to the voice. _Don't let it be –_

But of course it was. Eleanor stood in the doorway, her hands fisted on her hips, and her green eyes piercing him. His cheeks burned even more.

He hadn't thought that was even _possible_.

"Well," the older woman finally said after an awkward pause, "Thank the Maker the wedding is in a few short days." She motioned towards Brenna. "Come, dear, you're needed in the, uh, main hall."

_Right_. Eleanor had always been a bad liar; even Alistair could see through them. And that was saying something.

Brenna managed to trip over two chairs and something invisible on the floor before she made it to her mother; there was satisfaction in that, even if he was in no different shape than her.

* * *

The door opened, and feet whispered across the ground behind her.

Brenna felt her nervousness return in full force, until she was sick with it. She continued staring out the window, where the moon was full tonight, bathing the land in a white light nearly as bright as day. It was a night she would have taken as a dare, where she would have run out across the cliffs, the way she used to as a child. The way she had before she'd left for Denerim.

_It's only Alistair_. A few days ago this thought would have brought her comfort; she'd known him since she was a child. It was _Alistair_, the boy she'd chased after, the boy who'd let her practice her archery with, who had sat with her through her tea-and-mud-pie parties with eyes that begged her to let him go. But he'd stayed, even when Aedan would not, even as Aedan teased him and the other boys laughed, if he'd made a promise he stayed, and endured. He'd been a boy…

But all that changed with that kiss.

It had been all she could think about since it happened. When she'd tossed that dare out she hadn't imagined the results; that she would burn for more, that she would dream about it, that she would risk so much to have it happen again. She'd found herself staring out windows, hoping to see him again, taking longer walks through the castle to watch him spar with her brother.

_Is this what poets weep for?_She'd always loved those stories, but now –

Now she understood.

He was so close to her now, she could feel the warmth of his body bare inches from hers. All that burning and longing was twisting itself, coiling her stomach. _It's Alistair, for Maker's sake._But that thought only made it worse. He wasn't just Alistair anymore, he was someone else, someone she'd never really seen before.

His hands gently gripped her shoulders but he didn't turn her to face him, not yet. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

She nodded; it was all she could manage then. Finally he turned her around and when she stared up at him it hit her: she was a wife now.

_His _wife.

"Your father is so drunk they had to carry him to his bed," he said, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Aedan's not much better, come to think of it. Arl Howe is, I think, the only man out there not _completely _drunk."

Brenna laughed at the image, louder and harder than it really merited but she did it anyway and slowly felt her stomach uncoil itself. Even in the shadows of the night, she could see color filling his cheeks. "Look," he started, "we don't have to –"

She stood up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Slowly his arms wrapped around her and then picked her up and carried her across the room.

"I love you," he breathed against her lips.

Brenna froze, realizing – _This has to be it. _"I love you," she whispered back. And then she kissed him with everything in her, every fire that had burned her veins, until they were both breathless with it.

"Maker, I'm a lucky man." He grinned against her lips.

"Yes, you are," she replied cheekily, and pulled his face towards hers.


End file.
